


Kubeiko (久延毘古)

by orphan_account



Series: threads of memory [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Ishval, Little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kubeiko(n.) A state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence.
Relationships: Rebecca Catalina & Riza Hawkeye, Riza Hawkeye & Maes Hughes, Riza Hawkeye & Maes Hughes & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang
Series: threads of memory [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883734
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Kubeiko (久延毘古)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first installment in a series of FMA oneshots based on words for emotions you can't feel, or good words for things that don't exist in the English language. I hope you like it!

The sky above them is like ink, streaked with slightly paler clouds of smoke and ash, matching the dark cloud of hopelessness that permeates the entire camp. The men and women here have long since numbed themselves to the world--a natural reaction, considering the things they’ve done and have yet to do. Hollow eyes stare unseeingly from beneath the shadows of pale beige hoods, dark circles underneath them like bruises. No one here has gotten much sleep--the demons of the subconscious are even darker and more ravenous than the ones in the waking world.

Here, the future doesn’t matter. The soldiers here can only think to the next day, the next hour, any of which could be their last. The idea of the end of the war is almost laughable--after all, too many won’t live to see it.

Riza Hawkeye curled her fingers tighter around the tin mug in her hand. It was empty now--the tasteless black coffee had vanished hours ago, in a desperate bid to stay awake. The ever-present clouds of smoke and dust above block out all but the brightest of the stars, but the demons of the subconscious are worse than the horrors of the waking world. 

“Hey, cadet.”

She looked up. Green eyes framed with cracked glasses met hers. Riza tried for a smile. Finding that she couldn’t, she simply stared down into her mug. “Hello, Hughes.”

He sat down on an overturned crate next to her. “How’re you doing?”

A mirthless laugh almost burst from her dry throat before she tamped it down. Only Hughes would think to ask such a thing _here_. “How am I _doing?”_ Her knuckles whitened as she clutched her mug even tighter than before, absently trying to anchor herself to reality.

“Yes.” Hughes’ kind eyes searched her own. “How are you doing.” It was less of a question now, more of a statement of a fact, somehow. It sounded somehow both hopeful and melancholy. 

Riza took a deep breath and sighed softly. “There was a bird on my sniper platform today.” It was an easier topic than the faces of the ones she had killed. The red eyes that widened when they saw her, but realized it was too late and there was nothing they could do except fall to the ground—

“Was there now?” Hughes knew what she was doing. He did it too--they all did. Focusing on trivial things instead of the battlefield around them kept them sane. “Do you know what kind it was?”

“A desert lark,” Riza whispered. “A juvenile. Male.” How many had she killed today it had to be more than fifteen maybe more than twenty too many too many—

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. “Hey. Are you all right?”

She pressed her palms against her eyes and rubbed hard. “Just tired.” It was true. It was the kind of exhaustion that snuck up on you, settling deep into your bones before you even knew it was there, before you realized it was all you could do just to stand up without immediately falling back down.

There was a sigh. Hughes adjusted his glasses, gazing blankly into the distance. “Same here. It’s just something about this place.”

A new voice spoke up from behind them. “It’s not the place, Hughes. It’s what we do here.”

Something twisted in her gut at the voice. Every time, no matter how many times she heard it, she always got a feeling of...wrongness. Roy had said he was going to make the world a better place. And now he was using his gift, the gift _she_ had given him, to kill so senselessly. But who was she to judge, Riza thought grimly. She herself had killed. So much. Too much. What difference did it make what weapon one used? A life was a life, and taking one made you a murderer.

Taking more than one made you a killer.

And she had taken many more than one. So many. Too many. With their eyes that had no idea no idea she was watching them no idea that they were out of time that their life was about to come crashing to—

“You think?” There was no trace of emotion in Hughes’ voice. Only exhaustion.

Roy sat down heavily on a crate in front of Riza. “Yes. Senseless violence. It makes you exhausted, doesn’t it.” He stared at his gloves in something akin to hopelessness.

Riza found the strength to answer, tearing herself from her repetitive thoughts. They raced in circles now, like frightened squirrels, unable to leave this place of blood-soaked sand behind. She doubted they ever could. “Yes, Major Mustang. It does.”

She could see him flinch at the title. When they had been children, ignorant of the horror the world held, she had called him Mr. Mustang. And sometimes Roy, when her father couldn’t hear. What was she supposed to call him now? Major Mustang? Flame Alchemist? Hero? Killer? Who was to say? Could he be both how could he be both how could someone look at the burned bodies blacked beyond recognition and call him a hero how could—

Roy sighed. “Which makes you think. Why do we k—do what we do?” He couldn’t say “kill.” None of them could. It was one thing to do something, and another to admit it to others. Even others who had watched you pull the trigger.

The corner of Hughes’ mouth curved upwards in a sort of grimacing smirk. “I already told you—I don’t want to die. I need to get back at the military for sending me to fight with no expectation that I’d come back alive. And I’ve got Gracia.” A smile, a _real_ smile, crossed his face—so out of place here. It was a tortured world that made even a simple smile seem foreign. “Spite and love. Both great motivators.”

“You can do a lot of things through spite,” Roy said. His words held no trace of humor. 

“But probably even more through love,” Riza said softly. She refused to look up, keeping her eyes trained firmly on the sand between her combat boots. Who knew what they might see on her face.

There was a few seconds’ pause, while every soldier fell into his or her own thoughts—probably as repetitive and sickening as her own, Riza mused. Naturally, it was Hughes who broke the silence.

“So our Hawk’s Eyes is a hopeless romantic, huh?” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Pretty much,” she sighed, raking her fingers through her bangs. “Lot of good it does me here, though.” Somehow, her thoughts turned to Rebecca. How was she doing, back at the military academy? Becca was less of a hopeless romantic and more of a…spontaneous one. She would meet the love of her life at a random bar and be single again by the end of the week, and had once said “I’m here for a good time, not a long time” before tossing back a line of shots in rapid succession. Riza had had to half-carry her back to the academy that night, she had been so inebriated. Thoughts of her friend’s numerous attempted relationships and late-night shenanigans brought a tiny smile to her face, a tiny smile that just as quickly disappeared.

“Why’d you smile, Hawk?” Hughes asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What’re you thinking about? Or _who_?”

Riza sighed, weighing her options. If she didn’t answer, Hughes’ diabolical little mind would concoct something entirely different from the truth. And really, what would she lose by telling them? “My friend Rebecca back at the academy.”

Hughes blinked, then tilted his head. That hadn’t been what he expected, but all right. Keeping Hawkeye talking was synonymous to keeping that dead look from her eyes. “Tell us about her.”

Riza chewed the inside of her cheek. “If I’m a hopeless romantic, then she’s a spontaneous one. She routinely drinks men twice her weight under the table, refuses to back down from any challenge, and will continue to toss back shots until she is physically unable to pick up her glass. I’ve had to escort her back to the academy at least every other weekend, and it doesn’t help that she’s knockout gorgeous and a natural extrovert.” She shrugged. “People assume she’s a fluttery airhead, but she’s actually very smart. A great sniper, too.”

“Sounds like an interesting woman,” Hughes said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Riza raised an eyebrow, feeling the layers of sweat and dust on her face crack and flake with the motion. “You don’t know the half of it.”

* * *

_Four months later_

Watching Hughes and Gracia, Roy couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than exhaustion.

Yes, he was happy for his friend to have someone to come back to. He was happy for Gracia that Hughes had made it back alive. Hell, he was happy for himself—he hadn’t died there, like so many others had. Like too many others had. Maes hadn't, and neither had Riza. Honestly, it was a kind of twisted miracle that all three of them had made it out alive—alive, but still haunted. And he had Aunt Chris and his sisters to come back to—the moment he stepped through the door of the bar, he would be buried in a perfume-scented group hug. The thought almost made him smile.

But he had so much to do. He had promised Riza he would burn the tattoo off her back. At least he had persuaded her to wait until they returned instead of burning her right there, in the remnants of a battlefield. There had been the risk of infection, and the obvious precariousness of the situation, but if he was being honest with himself, the real reason he had made her wait was because he wasn’t ready. He had hurt so many with his alchemy, killed too many—but to hurt her, with the very gift she had given him…that seemed impossible. He didn’t want to, dammit. He even doubted he _could_ . But he had made a promise. And he didn’t break promises, especially to her, when her eyes had filled with relief while his had filled with dread and pain. _Thank you,_ she had said. How could she _thank_ him when she knew what he was going to have to do to her?

He began walking to the front of the train station. Everyone here was rejoicing—there, a soldier kissed his sweetheart for the first time in months. A baby was crying. A mother embraced her son. A father picked up his young daughter and swung her around, laughing. Everyone had someone to come back to. Except…

Almost involuntarily, his gaze found Riza in the crowd. She had her back to him, nearly twenty feet away, looking lost. They had been put in separate train cars, divided by age, rank, and gender. The last time he had seen her was nearly nine hours ago, as she had taken the first step back to the life she had left behind, through the narrow doors of the train. She turned in a slow circle, eyes wide, not looking for anyone in particular but still hoping someone was there. He should do something. Walk up to her. Talk to her. Let her know that at least one person was glad to see her in this train station, one person was happy she’d made it back alive.

But was he, really? 

All he could feel was exhaustion.

Before he could make a decision, someone raced past him, nearly knocking him over. Whoever it was didn’t even apologize, didn't even notice, just threw herself in Riza’s direction, curly hair flying behind her like a strange lion's mane. “Riza!” he heard her cry, right before Riza was very nearly bowled over by the woman launching herself into her arms. 

“God, I was so worried,” he heard her say as she held Riza in a tight bear hug that looked stronger than a steel trap. “I thought I had missed your train. Thank _god_ you’re back, Riza, I’ve missed you so much, you have no _idea…_ ”

“Good to see you too, Rebecca,” he heard Riza say, face pressed into her friend’s dark hair. 

Roy blinked. So _this_ was Rebecca. He remembered Riza talking about her once or twice around an Ishvalan campfire. Somehow, her mannerisms and appearance exactly fit Riza’s description. He watched as Rebecca linked her arm through Riza’s and slowly led her away, talking in a low voice. Even from this distance, he could tell that her eyes were full of concern. Riza said something, lips twitching upwards, and Rebecca smiled wide.

So Riza did have someone to come back to, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Rebecca didn't get enough screen time. There, I said it. I would love a "how Rebecca and Riza met" OVA but noooooooo...
> 
> All comments are appreciated.


End file.
